


Words Unsaid

by b_ofdale_archive (b_ofdale)



Series: Aftermath [3]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: (kinda), Bisexual Gaston (Disney), Eventual Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mention of Past Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Movie(s), there's actually a tag for bisexual Gaston that's amazing, this is getting deeper than I'd expected haha, this is still in a 'Gaston never treated LeFou like shit' universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale_archive
Summary: It was funny, and a little sad, how confused LeFou’s feelings were. He was mad, and he wanted to be. He wanted Gaston to understand the errors of his ways. But a part of him also wanted to forget and pretend nothing had happened—to go back to spending days in the forest, dancing on the tavern’s tables, and watching Gaston get drunk until the early hours of the morning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Update: I wrote[another fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11619987) about post-movie Gafou, which I believe is much better than this little series. It's my final interpretation, so I'd recommend you read that one instead! :)**
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for your Kudos and comments on the first two parts. It means a lot to me and they really motivated me to write more! <3
> 
> Sooo here's another little sequel! I'm not sure about it, but oh well #itried  
> (I recommend reading part one and two for this one!)
> 
> Many thanks to [Max](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/) for the editing!

Gaston had kissed him.

He really had. 

Then, a second after their eyes had met, he had grunted in pain, arm closing over his side where bones were still healing, and LeFou had helped him go back to bed, where he’d promptly fallen asleep.

It all happened so fast LeFou first wondered if he had imagined it all. It didn’t help that it was not spoken of again, but LeFou quickly accepted things as they were; it _had_ happened. 

When a week passed and nothing was said, LeFou concluded Gaston must have forgotten he’d even gotten out of bed to walk down the stairs and kiss him. It set a strange, unpleasant feeling in LeFou’s stomach. How was he supposed to bring it up as a subject? Take Gaston’s hand and tell him, _“You kissed me the other day. Why?”_

He couldn’t do that now, could he? 

Yet God, he wanted to.

He couldn’t quite put words on his feelings—or, he could, but didn’t know what to do with them. He’d never thought Gaston would ever do that. He didn’t even know what it meant to Gaston. 

There was something bothering LeFou. He didn’t know how to phrase it—he didn't know where to start, either.

Shaking his head, LeFou entered the bedroom. Gaston sat on the bed, bare chested, putting on his boots. LeFou had probably seen him like that more often than Gaston’s own mother.

LeFou handed him shirt and coat, knowing better than to offer help now that Gaston felt himself capable of going out. LeFou hoped things would go well. No one could tell how the villagers would react upon seeing Gaston out of his house.

LeFou could only hope it would go well.

Silently, he followed Gaston to the door—that same door under which Gaston had kissed him. Straightening himself, Gaston made his first step out since he’d been brought back home, head high and eyes sharp, harboring his usual self-satisfied smile. 

A nod of Gaston’s head, and off they went, LeFou trying to make conversation as best he could. 

Their small talk came to a stop near the market, at the same time they did. LeFou felt like a kid about to take a test he wasn't prepared for. Gaston, however, showed no sign of nervousness; if he felt any, he would never let anyone but LeFou see it. 

Eyes were quick to follow them as they got on the move again, curious here, wary there.

Gaston first seemed oblivious to it; he wished good morning to the townspeople as though nothing had happened, shaking hands with the few men and women glad to see him.

For a moment, LeFou thought it would go well after all.

He wished it hadn’t been so short lived.

Eventually there were people stopping their conversations to whisper, people clearing the path as though Gaston was the plague, people averting their eyes. People following Gaston’s every movement. 

Little could be done to stop him from noticing. 

“Everyone’s staring at me,” Gaston said in a hiss.

LeFou raised an eyebrow at him, surprised, until he remembered things were not the same as they once were in more ways than one. Gaston was not one to complain to be looked at (if anything, there was perhaps nothing he loved more)—but he wasn’t used to be looked at _that way_.

“Give them time,” LeFou told him. Gaston grunted, meeting the eye of everyone who dared looki at him too long.

LeFou had talked with the villagers while Gaston had been resting. They weren't mad at him; but they’d seen his dangerous, irrational side, and didn't want to follow LeFou into singing praise to him anymore. Many were those whose forgotten family had been reunited in the castle. Many were those who’d learned the truth about Maurice, and realised they’d been duped all along. 

Gaston’s cruel actions could and would not be forgotten.

And if they hadn’t seen them, they’d heard. Word had been quick to spread. Being admired and respected for his time as a soldier was one thing, being feared for trying to kill an innocent man and turning the village into an hateful mob was another.

LeFou himself hadn’t quite forgiven him for that. 

“What,” Gaston growled at a lady who’d been staring from her stall, slamming his hands over the fabrics on display. “Do you want to paint my picture?”

The lady took a step backwards, head proud but a hint of fear marking her eyes; she too now knew what Gaston was capable of. 

“Gaston.”

Gaston’s eyes were on LeFou in an instant. LeFou grabbed his sleeve and lead him away from the crowd. Stopping near the fountain, quiet at this time of the day, he turned around to face Gaston. 

“You’re upset, I understand, but they’re never going to accept you around again if you act… that way,” LeFou said, carefully. He’d hoped for a better first impression after the events at the castle.

Gaston glared. “What do you mean, _accept me?_ ”

LeFou sighed, rubbing his neck and sending Gaston a meaningful look. “We’ve talked about this.”

“It was a beast!”

“I know you couldn’t know that _he_ was _the Prince_ ,” LeFou protested, “but he hadn’t done anything wrong.” LeFou paused, unsure he should continue or not. But the words were bitter on his tongue, and he had to speak them. “Besides, we both know that wasn’t the only reason you went after him. You were _scary._ ”

There was a short silence that left LeFou feeling tense; if Gaston cursed and walked away, he wouldn’t be surprised. But he wasn’t worried; Gaston would have lashed out at anyone else, like he had at Maurice in the forest before hitting him. Gaston was somehow more patient with LeFou than others. He’d never hurt him.

“You’re right, LeFou,” Gaston said, eyes turning cold. “We’ve talked about this.”

Then, as expected, he walked away, pace angry, then determined. 

LeFou trailed after him, sending awkward smiles to the people they passed. 

He’d been told his goal was an hopeless one; that Gaston couldn’t change and would never understand. But it wasn’t about making Gaston change—it was about making him realize he’d done wrong, and it could not happen again. It was about things going back to what they were before Gaston set his eyes on Belle. It was about accepting certain things would be different now, and that was alright; it didn’t mean the good done in the past was worth nothing. 

At least, it wasn't nothing to LeFou.

Gaston stopped a bit further along the street to catch his breath. He then took a right, heading to the stables where his horse was taken care of.

LeFou watched him from the entrance, holding hands behind his back, unable to hide his smile as Gaston patted the horse’s flank, murmuring incoherent words that could only come off Gaston’s mouth, getting calmer the more the horse kept his attention.

In that moment, simple as it was, he was already closer to the Gaston LeFou knew so well.

It was funny, and a little sad, how confused LeFou’s feelings were. He was mad, and he wanted to be. He wanted Gaston to understand the errors of his ways. But a part of him also wanted to forget and pretend nothing had happened—to go back to spending days in the forest, dancing on the tavern’s tables, and watching Gaston get drunk until the early hours of the morning.

Yet forgetting wasn't the right path to take, and he wouldn't try to. 

And, if Gaston wanted to do wrong again, it would be without LeFou by his side. He wasn’t afraid of disappointing Gaston anymore; not when it came to doing the right thing.

“I didn't want to scare you,” Gaston said then, snapping LeFou out of his thoughts.

_“Pardon?”_

Gaston joined him by the entrance, the sun shining kindly on his face. He still looked tired, the faint shadows under his eyes making it clear he didn’t sleep as well as he claimed whenever LeFou asked.

He leaned against the stable beam opposite LeFou, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He was unfairly handsome. 

“It’s alright,” LeFou started, before frowning, and correcting himself, “Well, no it’s not, but—”

“Still scared?”

LeFou blinked up at Gaston. “No.”

“Good,” Gaston said with a satisfied nod, like he’d just solved a problem. 

“I’m not scared for me,” LeFou specified, wincing. “I’m scared for—you know—”

“Ah. I hate them, yes,” Gaston said, harshly. Anger flashed through his eyes, though it was gone as fast as it had come. “I’ll prove to everyone they still need me, not _them_ in their fancy castle.”

“No plans to kill the Prince and marry Belle?” LeFou inquired, hiding real concern under a teasing tone. He did wonder whether or not Gaston would ever move on, but that wasn’t a question he felt he could ask right now. “You’ll have actual guards to get passed this time.”

Gaston rolled his eyes, making a somewhat dramatic wave of his hand as he took an unconscious step towards LeFou. “I’m done with that damn woman,” he said. “She doesn't deserve me.”

LeFou smiled. Well, he’d got his answer. Now, that wasn't exactly the development he’d been expecting, but he’d take it for now. That was his Gaston.

“However, you—” LeFou's eyes widened as Gaston took another step towards him. He didn't miss the slight hesitation that flashed across Gaston's face before he finished, “You’re worthy of me. Though I’m not sure I’m worthy of you.”

_Gaston hadn't forgotten, then._

LeFou blinked several times. He’d not seen this coming, and it didn’t sound right in Gaston’s mouth. Gaston was worthy of everyone—at least, that was Gaston had clearly always believed—and LeFou had to admit he’d believed so for a long time, too. 

“You’re speaking nonsense,” LeFou uttered. He looked down at the ground. He’d been complimented by Gaston before, and always it lifted him up, but that wasn’t like anything he’d ever been told. His cheeks were hot, his heartbeat fast, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, which he now held tight in front of him.

LeFou glanced up just in time to see Gaston take one last step forward, and put his hand on the beam behind LeFou. LeFou looked right back at the ground, feeling Gaston’s breath on the top of his head.

“Don’t make me regret saying it, LeFou.” 

“What’s making you say it, then?” LeFou breathed. “What changed?”

Gaston lifted his chin, and here was one of Gaston’s devilish smiles, one of those LeFou loved so much. 

Gaston didn’t answer. But then, Gaston had never been particularly good with words.

A glance around, and Gaston kissed him, harder than the first time—free of the pain and the tiredness from before when his mind had been busier and his body weaker. 

Resisting his own wishes, LeFou put both hands flat against Gaston’s chest, breaking the kiss. There was something amusing about Gaston’s confused expression, but LeFou didn’t feel like laughing. 

“What changed?” LeFou repeated. “Four weeks ago you were all about Belle.” He paused, looking away again. “I’m not a replacement.”

As the words fell from his mouth, LeFou realized that was what had been bothering him; why, after Gaston had first kissed him and the surreal feeling of it had disappeared, he hadn’t been as happy as he’d imagined he would. He didn’t want to be a replacement, and he would not be, even if that meant pushing Gaston away.

Gaston stared in silence for a short moment, mouth slightly agape and his brows furrowed. He let his arm fall by his side. He cleared his throat.

“Nothing has changed,” he said. “I’m going for what I’ve always wanted.”

LeFou swallowed, even more confused. “Always wanted?”

Gaston held his eyes. “Yes.” He smirked, and went to kiss LeFou again. “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~you're right gaston, lefou's too good for you, it's time to listen to him more and show him you care~~
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! Comments are very much appreciated! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Kuku](http://kokido-kuku.tumblr.com/) for the editing! :D
> 
> Here's the second chapter... I hope you'll like it!

LeFou had always thought he knew everything about Gaston. 

After all, they’d known each other since they were children, and had never left the other’s side since. Even when war had come and threatened to separate them, LeFou had gone with Gaston despite knowing he wasn’t made for bloodshed in any way. In the end, he hadn’t regretted it; as much as he’d needed Gaston, Gaston had often needed him, too. Not on the battlefield, but after. 

That was still true today, in different ways.

After their talk and the kisses exchanged in the stable, LeFou had slipped from Gaston’s shadow, said he was sorry but needed to think, and went home. And thinking, he’d done that a lot; enough not to sleep that night. 

Everything he’d always wanted was right there. He wanted to take it, with both hands, and never let it go. He knew Gaston. That moment in the stable? It hadn’t been a lie, but LeFou wasn’t sure he understood all that Gaston had meant. ‘What he always wanted?’ Gaston had never wanted him. Surely, he would have seen it; with a sign, a look, anything. 

He never had. 

Yet Gaston had said those words with so much conviction LeFou could do nothing but believe them. 

It still sounded impossible. LeFou didn’t know what to think of it. 

Despite his doubts, LeFou went to Gaston’s house the next morning, if only to check on him. Perhaps he hoped for another kiss as well, another talk that would explain all that he didn’t understand, something that would finish convincing him to take Gaston’s hand and live the life he’d always hoped to live. 

As always the door was open, and the house incredibly calm, though a voice was coming from upstairs. LeFou knew the house well; he spent more time here than at his own, modest place. He went up the stairs, the wood creaking under his feet. The owner of the voice—Gaston, of course—didn’t seem to have heard him. 

LeFou stopped opposite Gaston’s bedroom, where Gaston stood, impeccably dressed; he wore only a white shirt, but it was enough. It always was.

Gaston was talking to his reflection; be it to compliment himself, practice his speeches for the tavern, or simply talk to himself, it was far from an unusual sight.

LeFou had always loved looking at him doing that, aspiring to love and believe in himself as much as Gaston did. 

LeFou watched for a moment, unable to hear what Gaston was saying. From what he could see, Gaston seemed to take whatever matter held his attention seriously.

When Gaston started giving light punches to the mirror that grew in intensity, LeFou’s curiosity turned into worry. It took the best of him; he got closer to the door, until he could distinguish Gaston’s words.

“He was wrong,” he was saying. “You’ll show LeFou—” Gaston grunted, and LeFou took one step backwards at the mention of his name. “You know what you’re doing—you _always_ do.”

A hit.

“He was wrong.”

Another.

_“Wrong.”_

LeFou started with a gasp when Gaston hit the mirror one more time, with more strength than before. The surface cracked where Gaston’s fist met the glass. 

Gaston turned on his heels, eyes slightly widening as he took in the sight of LeFou by the door. 

“LeFou,” he said, closing his hand over his bloodied knuckles. LeFou couldn’t help but stare at them. 

He hurried to Gaston, promptly taking his hand and inspecting it, more concerned about the cuts than his eavesdropping being noticed. Gaston’s well-being would always come first. 

“Here we go again,” he muttered, and Gaston huffed. 

LeFou knew both of them remembered those times before and during the war.

Times where Gaston was careless, let his emotions take the best of him, and LeFou had to patch him up. Even in their early teenage years, LeFou cleaned the scratches Gaston got on his knees, his bloodied hands after he beat up bullies, blinded by anger. It’d taken a while until LeFou learned how to calm Gaston’s temper, stop him from hurting the boys mocking him for a reason or another, and hurting himself in the process. After the war, it’d gotten worse, but LeFou had always found a way to make Gaston take a deep breath and find his calm again. 

Letting go of Gaston’s hand, LeFou turned away and walked down the stairs to the kitchen where the alcohol and bandages were kept; memories of a time when LeFou was learning to cook and kept cutting his fingers. 

Gaston followed not far behind, strangely silent.

LeFou moved a chair for him, gesturing Gaston to sit while he took what he needed from the cupboards.

Once everything in hand, LeFou pulled another chair in front of him, and sat down before he took back Gaston’s hand. He promptly started cleaning it up with a clean cloth, eyes focused on his work.

Eventually Gaston’s voice rose again. “It’s fine,” he said. “Just bandage it.”

LeFou glanced up at him. He had to look back down instantly, biting the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t fair, how beautiful Gaston was. 

“What was that about?” LeFou asked softly, nodding to Gaston’s hand.

“You weren't supposed to be there.” 

“Maybe, but I was,” LeFou replied. “So, what was that about?”

“Nothing.”

LeFou raised an eyebrow at him, alongside a skeptical look. “Nothing doesn’t make you break mirrors.”

Gaston grunted, sinking deeper into the chair. 

LeFou saw Gaston come to a decision as if he was in his head. 

“You remember my father?”

LeFou’s brows furrowed. He did, but didn’t see what Gaston’s father had to do with anything. Gaston’s father had been admired in the village, though less than his son would come to be, and he’d always treated LeFou kindly. “A good man.” 

Gaston nodded, somewhat grimly. “You know I believed everything he said.”

 _’He was wrong’_ , that was what Gaston had told the mirror, LeFou remembered. Closing his hands on his lap for a short moment, he swallowed before asking, “What did he say?”

It took some time for Gaston to answer; he wasn’t much about personal talk, though he often told LeFou of all his little problems and moods. LeFou could tell this was on another level entirely; Gaston never mentioned his family. He never had a reason to.

Gaston didn’t say anything until LeFou was done cleaning the wounds. He flexed his fingers, causing more blood to come out of them, which earned him a glare from LeFou. “He was sitting right there where you are, when he said men didn’t love men—that I was not to speak of it again or I’d never become who I was meant to be.”

“Ah.” LeFou gulped. He bent down, went to clean the cloth in the bucket he’d put next to them. He’d certainly not expected such a conversation today—he didn’t know whether or not he was ready for it, though he’d hoped it would come, someday soon. “I thought you liked girls.”

“I do.” There was something of a laugh in Gaston’s voice, like he couldn’t understand why LeFou would even say that. “I love women, LeFou.”

Of course he did. He should have known better than to ask. 

LeFou put the cloth away before picking up the bottle of alcohol. He opened it, and let the burning liquid flow over the cuts, causing Gaston to wince, though he tried to hide it. 

“How did he know you liked men, too?” It felt strange to ask, but not wrong. He’d been wondering for a few days now, though he’d never thought he would ever talk of such a subject with someone—definitely not with Gaston. 

LeFou had never told anyone. It’d always been his secret, though he’d never been afraid to try showing his affection for Gaston, ever since he’d figured out his feelings back when he was only a young teenager. It’d always seemed to fly over everyone’s head, including Gaston’s, and so he’d continued in hopes Gaston would one day notice. 

A foolish hope. 

Gaston only ever paid attention to how the girls acted around him. They’d been around each other for so long that to him, LeFou was LeFou. At least, that was what LeFou had concluded over the years.

Gaston shrugged. “I thought everyone did.” He paused, fixing his eyes on LeFou. “Until I told father I was going to marry you, someday.” 

If LeFou had been drinking, he would have spit it out. Instead, his eyes widened, and he gaped for half a second, his thoughts a mess. Had it been so long? Gaston must have been no older than ten—that was much earlier than when LeFou’s own feelings had turned from admiration and friendship into wishes of more.

“You mean, all this time you—” LeFou eventually uttered, recomposing himself as fast as he could. His heart pounded so hard it almost hurt.

“No.”

LeFou couldn’t help a strike of disappointment from making him look down. He started bandaging Gaston’s hand, somewhat dreading the moment he’d be done, for he would have nothing more to do to avoid meeting Gaston’s eyes. Not because he was afraid; because he knew there was too much to be read into his own. 

“Didn’t you listen?” Gaston added. He wasn’t as cold as his words sounded; with a quick double tap to LeFou’s knee, Gaston made him look up, stop his work. He himself was looking away, like reminiscing old times. “I believed my father. I buried it. I forgot about it.” His eyes shifted to LeFou again, something indescriptible tainting them. “I ignored it.”

LeFou couldn’t tell whether it was pain, or regret, or something else. Perhaps a mix of all those buried feelings. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like to lock that part of him so deep within it’d be forgotten.

“I hate how it all came back to me,” Gaston continued. “All that because of you—” He pressed two fingers to LeFou’s chest. “That night.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know—” LeFou stopped himself, a quiet gasp escaping him. 

He abruptly understood; that moment, in the castle—that was why Gaston had looked the way he had. The wet eyes, the flash of confusion, the loss for words. LeFou had brought back something in him Gaston hadn’t even known was there. Just by saying, clearly, in a desperate way that couldn’t be interpreted any differently, that he loved him.

Only now did he understand he’d shown Gaston he loved him many times; but he’d never said it, word for word. And Gaston, well—he wasn’t one to take a hint when it came to people’s feelings.

LeFou took a deep breath, setting his eyes down once again. He took Gaston’s hand back in his and finished bandaging it. 

When he was done, and before he could let go, Gaston’s fingers closed over his own, keeping him there. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Gaston said, firmly.

LeFou cracked a smile. He closed his other hand over Gaston’s.

“Thank you for telling me all this.”

Gaston merely nodded, and for a moment they simply sat there in silence, LeFou’s eyes fixed on their joined hands and the pressure of Gaston’s gaze on him. 

It was Gaston who broke the silence.

“I never thanked you for bringing me home.”

LeFou shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone in the first place. I didn’t try harder to stop you.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop me, LeFou,” Gaston said, smirking now. 

LeFou frowned. This wasn’t funny, and those words he’d not spoken yet came tumbling from his mouth without he could stop them, “I was angry.”

Gaston’s smirk fell. “Why?”

“Because you chose her, your jealousy and your hate over your own well-being,” LeFou said, voice quietening more and more until it turned into a whisper. “Over us.”

He gently freed his hand from Gaston’s, and stood up, but Gaston caught his wrist.

“I’m choosing us, now.” He stood as well. “Won’t you?”

LeFou laughed. “Gaston,” he said, “I’ve _always_ chosen us.”

“Doesn’t mean you do right now.”

“I do.”

“Prove it.”

It didn’t sound like a command—more like a challenge. LeFou turned on his heels, looking up at Gaston. He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. 

Alright, then. 

Gripping the front of Gaston’s shirt and pushing him back on his chair, LeFou bent down to catch Gaston’s lips. A satisfied growl escaped him, his hands going up to frame LeFou’s face. 

Though he thought he was eager to get used to this, LeFou was quick to break the kiss, earning another growl, of disappointment this time, from Gaston. 

“Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Do not scare me like that,” LeFou said, surprised by the authority in his own voice, “and never try to kill anyone again.”

“LeFou—”

LeFou put two of his fingers on Gaston’s lips, which he tried to bite. LeFou sent him a scolding look. 

Gaston pushed his hand away.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll try.”

“You have to do better than that,” LeFou insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. Gaston stared back at him, clearly unpleased, but not mad, to see his advances rejected. 

“Are you going to be bossy now? I’m not sure I’m fine with that.”

“You don’t have to like it, Gaston,” LeFou said with a sigh.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

At that Gaston stood again, under LeFou’s raised, amused eyebrow. He got closer, until he was towering over LeFou. LeFou glanced up at him, but made no move. Gaston’s words could have been interpreted in many ways, but he was serious, and that was enough to make LeFou pause, almost forget their proximity, the taste of him still lingering on his lips.

He felt honoured that Gaston had opened up to him. Gaston never brought up the past unless it was to talk about glorious days. By doing so, he was proving how seriously he was taking all this. It showed he _cared._ LeFou knew that meant more coming from Gaston than it would seem to anyone else’s eye, and he would not take it for granted.

LeFou smiled up at him. 

He went up on his toes, hands held behind his back, and kissed Gaston again.

Hope had never felt so good.

 

_Who needed anything when they had each other?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say I'm sorry I turned Gaston’s habit of talking to mirrors into a kinda angsty thing, but I'm really not.
> 
> I hope Gaston's characterization was alright... mostly because as much as he's more developped in the live action, most of his scenes are about his 'relationship' with Belle, and with LeFou. so when it comes to serious stuff I'm like '?????? how does he work.' As Kuku told me, he spends so much of his time being pompous/obsessed with Belle that you don't see him function like a '''normal''' person that much. So yeah, I hope it was fine, I tried my best! :)
> 
> This is the end of this series! Thank you so much for following it these past few weeks and giving it so much love! <3 
> 
> I'll get back to this pairing, I promise! It's already been done a few times, but I'd love to write about them as teenagers, in canon setting or in an AU, I'm not sure yet! 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a Kudos if you enjoyed it (and on the other parts as well!) As for comments, they're very very much appreciated! I cherish them all, they're never too late and you'd make my day!! Thank you so, so much again for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://barduil.tumblr.com)! :)


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